Cliché Chronicles
by JonDosh
Summary: Where I ridicule the ridiculous. A collection of oneshots and ficlets in response to the many clichés fanon has spawned.
1. Immunity

**Cliché Chronicles  
**_By _**JonDosh**

**Immunity**

Disclaimer: The itty bitty wee Draco and his scary father are the property of J. K. Rowling, along with any other characters or familiar elements of this story. I'm just borrowing them to kill a cliché.

A/N: I have decided to write a one-shot addressing a cliché that frankly just seems like a lot of wishful thinking: being able to develop immunity to Veritaserum, the truth potion. This "idea" is seen with various characters, but it mainly appears with a macho Draco.

Can we say, "Goodbye, cliché?"

--

"Good evening, darling," said Lucius Malfoy, sweeping into one of the Manor's larger sitting rooms. Giving his wife a swift peck on the cheek, he looked at the shrivelled infant in her arms. "Can you not get him to stop drooling? One of these days he'll stain the upholstery," he sniffed, looking in the corners of the room for his cane.

Narcissa shot her husband a look, before gazing fondly down at her son. "No," she whispered lovingly. "You wouldn't drool."

"Narcissa! Stop wasting your breath; it can't understand you," he snapped, striding out into the hall.

"Lucius!" she gasped. "Draco is our son!"

Her husband walked back in the room, dragonhide boots swinging in one hand, a heavy cloak in the other. He looked down his nose at the pink child. "Doesn't look like any son of mine," he said dryly before sitting down to put on his boots.

"Of course he doesn't look like you yet," Narcissa exclaimed. "He's just a baby!"

Lucius stood, carefully donning his cloak before approaching the chair where his wife and son sat. He glared at the boy, poking him harshly in the stomach. "Are you my son?" he demanded.

"Ba!" Draco gurgled happily, wrapping his small hands around his father's finger.

"Don't wait up for me!" Lucius called as he walked out the door, after angrily wrenching his finger from his son's grasp. He had one thought on his mind as he stepped into the winter cold: he had to find a Potion's Master.

--

"I won't, Father!" the four-year old screamed. "Won't won't won't won't won't won't won't…"

"Draco Lucien Malfoy, if I have to hear another word –" Lucius began, his temper rising.

"…won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't…"

Lucius tried grabbing his son by the elbow, but the boy slipped out of his grasp and onto the floor, where he lay on his stomach, pounding the floor with his fists. "Just tell me –"

"…won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't won't…"

Draco, this is your last chance! If you don't –"

"…WON'T WON'T WON'T WON'T WON'T…"

"SILENCE!!" Lucius roared. Draco froze, gaping up in silence. His father _never_ shouted. His father knelt down beside him, forcing him to swallow a clear liquid out of a glass vial. Draco's expression cleared and he looked up at his father, curiosity shining in his bright eyes.

"Now, I want not another word out of you, do you understand?" Lucius told his son sternly. Draco nodded vigorously, his eyes never leaving his father's. "Good. From now on, every time you misbehave, lie, or refuse to tell me something, I will give you some of this," he said, holding up the empty vial and shaking it a little. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, knowing full well that no four-year old would be able to identify the potion.

Draco shook his head slowly, whispering a hoarse "no."

"This is Veritaserum," Lucius carried on. "It makes little boys tell the _truth_." Draco's eyes widened, and his father sat him in an armchair before taking his own seat on the sofa. "Why did you tell your mother and I that you lost your toy broom?"

" 'Cause it broked," he blurted out immediately. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Broke," he corrected sternly, before pointedly asking, "_How_ did it break?"

"I showed it to Nana Black when she came for tea. She broked it for me!" Draco exclaimed, grinning toothily.

"Broke, Draco, she _broke_ it," Lucius said wearily, raking a hand through his long blond hair. He had no doubts that the terrifying Black family matriarch had burned the damn broom upon simply seeing it. "And why did you want it broken?" he asked with as much patience as he could muster.

"I want a real broom!"

--

Two years later, both father and son could be found in Lucius' study, furiously yelling at each other.

"I didn't do anything! She's was just gone! It's not my fault!!" the six-year old boy screamed.

"Draco, you remember –"

"It was Dobby! He cleaned out the tank last night –"

"QUIET!" he roared, effectively stopping his son mid-sentence. He pulled the now-familiar vial out of his pocket, pouring the contents down his throat. He waited for Draco's eyes to clear before interrogating him.

"Why is the fish tank empty?" he asked.

" 'Cause Ramora's dead," Draco stated without missing a beat.

"I see," Lucius said, narrowing his eyes. "And how did Ramora die?"

"I flushed her down the toilet," he replied, grinning.

"Why?"

"I liked watching her swish as she got sucked down."

--

Lucius marched down to the waterfront, fuming. He was secretly grateful his son was down by the river that afternoon, because he couldn't bear to have Narcissa discover his method of contro—no, of discipline.

He finally reached the riverbank, clearing his throat to get his ten-year old son's attention. Draco spun around immediately, dropping the handfuls of rocks he had been skipping across the water. His eyes widened in shock at the vial his father pulled out of his robes' inner pocket, and he tried, rather unsuccessfully, to back away.

"Father, I didn't do anything! Please don't—"

"_Petrificus Totalus_," Lucius muttered, pointing his wand at his son. He swiftly caught Draco as he was falling, pouring the contents of the vial into his still-open mouth. Muttering a quick _Finite_, he returned up to the bench that was conveniently placed twenty feet from the water's edge.

"What happened to Plinky?" he demanded in a low voice.

Draco snorted, turning back to the waterfront and resuming his rock-throwing. "She left," he chortled.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "This morning, I had a perfectly content house-elf. This afternoon, I go down to the kitchens and find out that she's gone. How do you think I feel?!"

His son turned around briefly to look at him. "Pretty pissed, I'd say."

"Why is she gone?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"I guess she might have been freed," Draco replied nonchalantly.

"Give me a straight answer!" he snapped. "Did you or did you not free her?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Why?!"

"I was too lazy to bring my clothes down to the laundry," he whined, throwing a large rock farther down the bank so that it scared away the ducks. "She didn't want to either."

--

"If I didn't know any better," Severus Snape began as he removed a vial of clear liquid from a high shelf, "I'd say you were—"

The clock in the corner of the room struck nine, and Draco swore. "Wonderful. I'm already late. Just give me the damn potion." He snatched the vial from his professor's hands, downing it. "Sorry, you were saying? What is it that I am?"

Snape smirked. "Immune to Veritaserum."

Draco let out a bark of bitter laughter. "Oh yeah. _That_." Still laughing, he threw glittering powder into the fireplace and disappeared in the emerald flames, as the potions master returned to his private quarters.

Neither of them noticed a pair of wide brown eyes watching through the partly open door.

--

The following morning, Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall to find himself being stared at by all the students. Somewhat uncomfortable, he made his way to his seat at the Slytherin table, trying to ignore all the whispers that were erupting around him.

Grateful that Crabbe and Goyle were too thick to understand the meaning of gossip, he sat by them, selecting a few muffins for breakfast. He had just pulled the top off of one when Pansy sidled over to him, batting her eyelashes obscenely.

"Draco," she simpered, "is it true, what they're saying?" At the word 'they', she jerked her head to the right, indicating the Gryffindor table.

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, instead saying calmly, "If I knew what they have been saying, I'd be able to answer."

"Oh," she giggled, sliding back down the bench to where she had been sitting. After briefly consulting Millicent, she returned, determination shining in her eyes. "Are you immune to Veritaserum?"


	2. Depression

Depression

**Depression**

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling, along with any other characters or familiar elements of this story. I'm just borrowing them to kill a cliché.

A/N: I have decided to write a one-shot addressing a cliché that frankly just seems like the blather of an emo fangirl: depressed Harry distancing himself from everyone because they just don't understand him. This "idea" is seen with various characters, but it mainly appears with an unfortunate Harry.

Can we say, "Goodbye, cliché?"

--

Harry sat in the chair, breathing heavily. He felt exhausted after his outburst, and even more so after Dumbledore had revealed the contents of the prophecy to him. He was still in shock over the events at the Ministry, and Sirius—he felt like he was going to snap at any moment. Dumbledore watched him over the rims of his spectacles, his eyes no longer twinkling.

"I understand if you want to take a break, Harry," he said kindly. "This is a dangerous task you have been set; if you do not feel ready to face the world quite yet, perhaps a relaxing holiday is in order."

It was a moment before there was any kind of response. Harry regarded the Headmaster thoughtfully, before lowering his eyes. "That would be nice," he said softly.

"Excellent. I will make all the necessary arrangements, and hopefully you will recover by the fall. I will send you a note later this evening to notify you of the plan."

Harry nodded and recognizing the dismissal, stood to leave. Before stepping out the door, he turned, whispering a quiet 'thank you' to the professor.

--

A few months later, the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogwarts near dusk. Before the student body in its entirety descended from the train, three adolescents emerged, two male and one female, and took off rapidly to secure a carriage that would bring them up to the castle. Two of the friends chatted amicably, only belatedly realizing their companion had sat looking out the window in complete silence the entire time.

Once they reached the castle, the three entered the Great Hall with the other few hundred students, eagerly awaiting the Sorting Ceremony and the Welcome Feast.

The first-years entered the Great Hall, each taking their turn upon the stool with the Sorting Hat, but Harry didn't care. He shot dark looks at all the clapping students, and blatantly ignored Dumbledore's speech. When the food finally arrived, he looked at Ron's performance in disgust before beginning to push food around on his own plate.

In his peripheral vision, he saw students chatting about their summers, teachers greeting each other after the long summer break, and the stars twinkling from above. He heard the clinking of silverware on plates, the gossip of some nearby girls, and the bickering of Ron and Hermione. And he hated it all.

Harry frowned at his plate, immersed in thought. What was he doing there? He felt out of place in the Great Hall, surrounded as he was by gossiping teenagers. What did _they _know of the real world beyond safe walls of their homes and the school? For that matter, what did anyone know about reality? Thoroughly disgusted, Harry pushed his plate away, his food barely touched.

"Are you alright, mate?" a concerned voice asked from across the table. "Harry?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting Ron's squarely. Giving a derisive snort, he stood and stalked out of the Great Hall.

--

The first week back at Hogwarts passed in a blur of classes, parties, and fights. By the weekend, the sixth-years were exhausted by the sheer amount of work that was expected of them.

The first Sunday in the Gryffindor common room found a group of students gathered around the notice board.

"Quidditch tryouts are this Thursday!" Ron exclaimed, pushing his way through the younger-years to his friends. "Harry, will you come help me practice before hand? You can come too, Hermione," he added.

She sniffed, turning instead to the desk in the corner. Harry looked on, unimpressed.

"Come on, I know I made it on the team last year, but you can't tell me that it wasn't luck," he admitted sheepishly. "I only beat McLaggen because of Hermione's Confundus and you know it."

Harry rolled his eyes, sighing impatiently. "Look, as much as I'd love to, I think I have more important things to do. And you can tell Ginny to try out for Seeker," he finished, stalking up the stairs to the dormitories.

--

Harry was up in the Common Room a few weeks later, sitting in an armchair by the fireplace. He stared into the fire in silence the only sound the crackling of the flames. The rest of his House was down at dinner, and he was grateful for their absence. Now, he actually had an opportunity to think in peace.

A couple minutes into this solitude, the portrait hole crashed open and admitted a very distraught Hermione. She briskly crossed the room to where he was seated, stopping and wringing her hands distractedly once she had arrived. Harry looked blankly at her, not averting his eyes until she sat down across from him.

They both waited in silence, him patient and her nervous, until she finally blurted out, "What's wrong?"

He gazed at her levelly. "What do you mean?"

She sighed, raking a hand through her bushy hair in aggravation. "You've barely spoken to Ron and me since we got back from summer break. You barely eat, you rarely sleep, and you're always withdrawn. What's more," she added hysterically, "is that you complete your assignments the day they're given!"

Harry gave her a curious look before turning again to face the fire. "Is that what this is? You're making sure I don't steal your title of resident bookworm?"

She emitted a weak laugh, before becoming once again serious. "I mean it Harry. What's wrong?"

He sighed. "I'm just tired of this, that's all. The novelty of this job has finally worn off, and now I'm stuck here for another two years."

"Job?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

Harry nodded. "Being here at Hogwarts is a job for me. I'm stuck here for seven years so that I can hope to have a have a good job later on. And to top it all off, my girlfriend just broke up with me."

At this, her eyebrows flew up. "Girlfriend?" she asked, shocked.

"Yeah," he muttered bitterly. "As if the past two years didn't matter."

--

Harry awoke later than usual the following morning. He stretched out in his four-poster, yawning happily. It was finally the end of the month, and soon the worst of his troubles would be over.

He took his time getting ready, fully aware that he was the only person not yet in the Great Hall having breakfast. After getting dressed and packing his trunk, he set off to have his morning meal.

"Good morning, Harry!" Hermione beamed brightly, the tightness around her eyes indicating otherwise. Ron gave him a nod, mumbling a garbled greeting through a mouthful of egg.

"Morning," he muttered, sparing a vague smile before reaching for the tower of toast in the center of the table. He was able to eat a slice and a half before forks started clattering around him. He looked up, irritated. Did they _have_ to disrupt the only good morning he'd had so far in this horrible castle? He continued with his piece of toast, resolutely ignoring the commotion until he felt the tip of a wand jabbing him in the side of the head. "Really now, what is it?"

He looked up, startled to see half a dozen wands pointed at him while a dozen or more wands were pointed at a mirror image of himself. Many others had their wands out but chose instead to keep glancing warily between the two. Unperturbed, the other Harry took a seat a few feet down the Gryffindor table, spearing a sausage with a fork.

"W-who are you?" Hermione stammered, her wand pointed in the newcomer's direction.

He raised an eyebrow at her, taking a bite of his breakfast. "Harry Potter, as I'm sure you'd know if you remember the past five years. Hello Hermione, Ron," he said cheerfully, waving at his two best friends.

Harry sneered at the cheerful clone, choosing instead to grumble at his plate. His neighbour pressed the wand even harder into his head, and he recognized Seamus' voice demanding to know who he was.

Harry spun around, glaring at the cheerful Harry. "Do you see what I've had to deal with while you've been on holiday? Did you neglect to mention something in your absence?" he spat.

Ron turned back and forth, looking between the two Harry Potters. "Which one of you was obsessed with the Mirror of Erised in first year?"

One Harry rolled his eyes while the new one snorted. "Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me. You do realise how much trouble that got me into, right?"

Ron narrowed his eyes at the boy who had been staying in Gryffindor Tower for the past month. "And who exactly are you?" he asked.

"Oh, him?" the real Harry asked, jerking his head towards the sullen boy a few seats away. "He's my stunt double."


	3. Sweet Tooth

**Cliché Chronicles  
**_By _**JonDosh**

**Sweet Tooth**

Disclaimer: Mentions of canon characters and locations are understandably the property of J. K. Rowling, although I can honestly say that there won't be that much here. Anyhow, I'm borrowing them to kill a cliché.

A/N: So I was unable to fall asleep last night, and was in a decidedly silly mood. I apologize in advance for the loss of brain cells this may cause. This instalment is quite a bit shorter than my usual chapters, but I think you'll understand by the end why that is. This addresses the cliché of spiked Sherbet Lemons (or Lemon Drops for the Americans).

Can we say, "Goodbye, cliché?"

--

_Dear Aberforth,_

_So, Brandon lost the bet yesterday; it was Veritaserum after all. All I can say is that I hope that girl doesn't come in here again. If I have to endure another story about 'Behind Greenhouse Five'…_

_I guess I'm going to miss Brandon. Even though the population of this small dwelling never changes, it'll still feel a lot emptier without him. At least several of the students have caught on. I mean, how many times must one leave the Headmaster's office only to discover they feel inordinately cheerful?_

_On a different note, our offer still stands. If you want to send Nero on a trip through the lovely Goat's digestive tract, by all means, feel free. He's been neglecting his duties, and as such has been returned several times from the Rubbish Bin just before the house-elves arrived. He thinks, and I quote, that "the system is corrupt and we have better things to do that keep an old man on a permanent sugar high." He also mentioned something about Albus trying fudge for a change, but with the political climate the way it is…._

_Today's bet is for a calming draught, as Severus will be in here later this afternoon. The Universe knows how uptight that man is, but _he_ at least has the sense to stay clear of us. One of these days, Albus is going to break down and use a Compulsion Charm on us, which is really unnecessary, given that we are simply irresistible._

_Harry Potter is in here quite a lot this year, although I am proud to announce that he has still not been tempted by our citrus goodness. He does keep on giving us weird looks though. Maybe he knows … or maybe he just knows that Gino will lose today's bet. I sincerely hope she likes snarky Potions Masters, because if that Compulsion Charm arrives, I daresay she'd be trapped somewhere in his stomach for hours on end. Imagine the conversations she could have with Neville Longbottom while in there.… Excuse me, I shouldn't have said that. Severus eats babies for breakfast, not Gryffindors…._

_Phinneas is starting to rise from an unusually genuine slumber, so I must take my leave. Give my regards to Goat, and I wish you the best of luck in your potential future dealings with your dear brother._

_Best Wishes,_

_Dirnt_

_The Sweet Bowl  
Headmaster's Office  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_


End file.
